


Enid's Spiral

by Karmadon



Category: Cultist Simulator (Video Game)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-07-12 07:12:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15990266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karmadon/pseuds/Karmadon
Summary: In which Enid finds her way into the hidden things in the world, quite unrelated to a cult leader.





	1. Turning

My feet pounded the pavement as I rushed home. Did I notice what street I was in? Did I recognize that intersection, or did they all look alike in the night's gloom? My mind raced with the things I had seen. The things I had felt. I closed my eyes and tried to focus on walking, but the sensation was still there, vibrations beneath my eyelids, suggestions of appetites so severe they cannot be denied.

I have taken to walking the streets at night. One might argue this an unfavourable passtime for a woman in any city, but one might also not know the unrest that has lately overtaken me. I employed myself with simple clerical work, and always took quiet joy in it, but in time my body began to rebel against rest. I have been sleeping in fits, waking several times each night, certain that I have just seen... something. Always vague shapes, and yet horrible, unsettling. A tangle of serpents, struggling against one another as they slither and crawl towards a door. When I wake, unsettling words appear unbidden in my mind. My mind is the door. The world's skin is the door. It can be many doors, but the serpents will not be denied. They will find their way through.

Poor sleep can lead to erratic and unfocused behaviour, but my work had not suffered much. Mr. Perin, the custodian and manager of the archive where I work, certainly had not mentioned anything. Still, I found myself daydreaming more and more during the day, my thoughts turning again and again to serpents, and closed doors, and doors that thought cannot bear opening, and doors that will open regardless. It was a buzz, always in the back of my mind, as if it is a task I had left undone and must see to.

And so I sought comfort in nightly walks through the city streets. I daresay besides the occasional drunken jeer I had not attracted any attention, and that suited me magnificently. The walks seemed to quiet the buzzing. It is said that dreams can help one settle the troubles of the daytime - well, the walks did just that for the dreams, I suppose. 

Initially my walks would be to similar locations. The neighbourhood where I live, the neighbourhood where I work, the areas where I buy life's small necessities. As it went on, though, my feet have begun to take me further and further. I would walk the length of the city, and my mind made no record of the streets I walked. I recall one time in particular that I became inexplicably startled, as if shook awake, and looking upon my surroundings I did not recognise where I was whatsoever - it certainly was a street, of sorts, but it was bathed in soft violet glow, like moonlight from somewhere else. I carried on walking, paying close attention to signs of the familiar city, and eventually I have found it again, complete with its familiar sounds and smells and lights - and turning back I could not find those strange streets again, but I knew that if I sought them truly, I would.

I will always remember the sensation of walking them for the first time. One might assume that I would be alarmed, frightened, and perhaps a state of panic would cause me to see the place as stranger than it was, but I was quite calm, as if I was exactly where I should be. The buzzing in my mind ceased as I walked in that unfamiliar hue of moonlight, and whenever my eyes noticed signs that were not in a familiar language, my gaze just drifted onwards, as if it those sights were quite natural in a place such as this.

When I finally reached my home I once again considered if I should be worried about what happened, and after careful consideration I decided that there was no reason to be. Long walks are known to be a remedy to many ailments, and it has done my fretful sleep wonders. If I have wandered into some place that wasn't quite there - Well, that was a strange thought, wasn't it? I did no such thing. I have walked the lengths of the city and found a particularly... particular spot. That was all.

And that night, though I dreamed once again of serpents, of opening wounds in a body that is not quite a body, a veil stretched across the world, of the things that slither out the tears - I felt more at peace than I had in a long while. The nature of doors is to close, but anything that can close can also be opened, and perhaps even should be opened. It seemed only natural. When I woke I recalled the dreams, and I recalled that place I explored, and the two seemed to be of an accord. I knew I would seek it out again.

Delving again and again into the city during the quiet hours of the night, I began to form a sort of... ruleset, that would generally ensure once again finding the streets that, for lack of a better term, weren't quite there. They seemed to only be available at night, and only during very certain hours. I have bought a cheap watch, and was quietly satisfied when my theories turned out to be entirely correct, at least as correct as such a short-term observation can be. 

For a long time, I had never met another person in those strange places in the night, and all the buildings and shops were always closed. Despite the strange feeling I have begun to have about closed doors, I never felt I should try my luck with any of them. That is why it came as quite a surprise when in one of my explorations I came upon a building with an open door, lit with a dim red lantern, and a sign that proclaimed it to be a club. Certainly I was familiar with the concept of clubs that are open in the night-time and cater to a specific sort of clientele, and I never thought I would have a reason to enter one, but a place like that, here? In the back of my mind, the buzzing resumed. I had to see. 

I vaguely recall a wiry fellow at the entrance. He thrust his hand forward, and I knew he expected entry payment of some kind. I handed him a bank note that seemed to satisfy him, and he wordlessly ushered me onwards, past a curtain. There was a sense of violence about him, as if his impatience was pointed, and could stab as well as any blade if needed. I was certainly glad to be past him.

Past him... the memory swirls and ebbs, it's hard to wrest it into a coherent shape. I have taken a seat, in front of a stage. To my right and left I saw people. An audience. There was an elderly gentleman to my right, I am certain of that, but the rest of the audience - I can only vaguely recall eyes, set expectantly on the stage, and mouths that seemed to water even though closed. The lights near me dimmed even more, but the stage had brightened somewhat, and the show began. The show is steady in my memory, a rock I don't think could ever be dislodged.

Several figures entered the stage. They were carrying paper shapes, fitted cleverly to give the impression of an Oriental dragon. It slithered around the stage as the figures danced, holding its parts. Something about the way the dragon was designed gave me a stir. The colours, perhaps? Red paints could not be so red, could they? The vibrancy seemed to defy the dim lighting, the movements seemed to become more and more independent from the dancers. A brighter light shone on the center of the stage, and I can only assume it was a hued light, because the stage became redder and redder as the dancing became more urgent. It entered my mind then, a strange awareness of an appetite - not just of mine, but of the entire audience, perhaps the entire show. It hung in the air, heavy, demanding. From behind me, I heard a groan, and I knew without thinking that it was a groan of need.

The dancers kept dancing, their movements tracing colour across the air. Those would be bits of cloth, I assumed. But the traces seemed lighter than cloth could be, and changed colour again and again as they moved. I was transfixed, and perhaps that is why it took me a moment to notice the dancers and the dragon were now separated. The dragon still moved and slithered in its own part of the stage, its movements somehow even more fluid and provoking than the dancers', which now seemed to only imitate it. The air of desire grew heavier still, and I heard moans around me. I myself felt as if I was somehow being toyed with, as if the dancing motions, the flesh now revealed and now hidden again, were stirring me from the inside, making my own desires twist and writhe against one another.

After what seemed like an eternity, the dragon's movements suddenly became more violent and erratic. It writhed again and again around itself, until it finally somehow found purchase, and its jaws closed around its own tail. Blood seeped, and I knew with utmost certainty that it was indeed blood. On the other side of the stage, the dancers seemed to turn on one another, still dancing fluidly and yet with violence, and soon enough I saw more blood. There were no screams. The music played on. The dancers and the dragon, urgent as they were in slaking their thirsts, somehow moved to the same part of the stage, and joined in their hunger. It was a feast, and all on the stage took part and feasted, and all on the stage were feasted upon. As it progressed I felt the air gradually grow lighter, and the pressing inside me subside more and more. The audience was quiet as they looked on. My lips were dry, and I knew the same could be said for all the rest. I managed to tear my eyes off the stage for a second, just to spare a glance to the gentleman to my right. He seemed perfectly composed, as if used to such displays, but I thought I could sense upon him the same things I have felt - as if he had just received a great gift, a sweet fruit to nourish him, and at the same time as if someone tore something away from him, and he was desperately trying to staunch the bleeding.

The show came to a close. The mass of bodies on the stage stopped moving and wet pieces of paper hung uselessly, only now finally looking like paper again. The stage lights darkened, and we all left. I rushed home, at the same time entirely unsure of what I had seen, and entirely certain of what I had felt and that perhaps it might be the same thing. The streets withered away around me; the building’s entry door, normally locked and barred in this time of night, swung open at my touch, and I found myself in my bed. I was entirely exhausted, as if I was wrung out again and again, and at the same time alive. Aware. Sleep came easily, and my dreams were a pleasure entirely of their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first and only fic I have ever written, no other media product has left such a profound impression on me and such a desire to write a fanfiction about it.
> 
> Current schedule is to publish a new chapter every week.
> 
> This work as a whole features wonderful editing by Thorn.


	2. Opening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Enid encounters fascinating spectacles.

Weeks have passed since my first visit to the Ecdysis Club. Since then, I've returned again and again. The frequency would vary; sometimes every other week, other times every other day. My thoughts would similarly drift to and from it - I could spend several days simply working, figures and catalogue numbers filling my head in their orderly arrays, my mind crystal clear of… wonderings. But the thoughts would always return. Innocent thoughts, like “I wonder if they've begun a new performance.”, or furtive wonderings about the dancers. Are they like me? Do they perform, rest, and then find their way back to the real world, keep up appearances of a mundane life? In any case, thoughts would beget more thoughts. More thoughts would become more and more complicated, alluring, graphic. And then I would return once more.

The shows would vary. The first one I have seen was perhaps not indicative of the club as a whole - while it does feature performances that are sometimes grisly and macabre, most are simply strange. One of the most cryptic ones comes to mind - a dancer, dressed as a moth, would flutter around the stage. Around and behind them, vistas of dark woods would shift and change. Sometimes, they would appear lost - other times, they seemed to know just the right away. Sometimes they would meet another moth, and exult together in darkness, before departing to their own paths. In any case, the performance would always lead to the introduction of a seer of sorts - they would trek slowly through the dark woods, holding aloft their lantern, which was always very bright in the otherwise dim stage. They would whisper a mantra while walking, which always seemed to give the impression of fueling the lantern, turning it brighter at points. Eventually they would meet the moth, and then the ending would vary.

Sometimes, the moth would dance around the seer, jabbering happily and urgently, until finally the seer would sigh, cease his mantra and kneel before the moth in supplication. The moth would then relax, produce a pair of shears and solemnly cut away at the seer's hair, while the seer's bright eyes would look directly into the audience. They would always say, at this point, that as the hair is shed, so might skin, so might memories, so might the truth from this world. The lantern would gutter out at this point, and the performance would end. A restive air would pervade the audience, as if we have lost some truth of our own, but have also gained some wonder as to what may be found in the dark and starlit wood.

Other times, most times, the scene was reversed. The moth would become fascinated by the lantern's light, and supplicate before the seer. The seer would speak his mantra to the moth, again and again, and again and again the moth would ask for mercy, mercy from illumination, mercy from the brilliance. Again and again the seer would deny them, and every time the lantern's light would increase. Finally, it would envelope the pair entirely, and the wood backdrop would wash away in the brightness, until all that remained was an intense radiance. When the performance ended that way, the seer would always leave the stage alone, and the eyes of the audience would seem brighter, fascinated. A hint of the knowledge that can be acquired beyond, truths beyond reckoning. A light that penetrates the skin and is entirely, utterly without mercy.

I have also begun to recognize some of the performers - the gender in any role was always varied and, I felt, was completely irrelevant. Most did not obscure their faces, and I've begun to remember my favorites, still without knowing their names. Almost always, they seemed to stick to only two or three roles - which seemed a bit odd to me. One had a vicious scar over her eye and would play a wonderful, tricksy and beguiling Moth. Another was robust and elderly, and his booming voice would deliver the radiant mantra of the lantern with such conviction I could see the light behind closed eyes, hours after the performance. 

And then there was one who did seem to change several roles. Sometimes she would be a black and gray moth, exploring the dark wood. Sometimes she would be painted in streaks of bright orange, dancing on a drumskin, her feverish movements akin to an excited thunderstorm. Sometimes she would dress all in white, and quietly deliver endings throughout a performance - the end of innocence, the end of life, the end of the sun. But most of all, she would dress in red. The kind of red I have begun to recognize in the white of certain people's eyes, beneath their fingernails, in the hues of very certain dreams. Her performances in the red were always the most striking. Her allure was pointed, like a rapier, stabbing into me throughout, releasing so much figurative blood but making me feel thankful that she did. She was, in the most sincere way I can put it, amazing. 

And the more I have seen of Her, the less I've thought of everything else. Daydreams, which generally disappeared once I have begun to regularly explore at night, would strike suddenly, violently, and feature mainly or only Her. Dreams in the night, while still occasionally of serpents and opening wounds, would more often than not feature Her, instead - imperious, and yet attractive to me so much more than a light to any moth. In the dreams She would offer a sweet embrace filled with barbs, and I would wake sobbing, elated. The pleasant, occasional thoughts of paying another visit to the Club changed subtly to include “Perhaps I'll see Her again”, and I would follow up on them much more frequently. I was, completely and utterly, obsessed. 

With that in mind, it is perhaps not a surprise that I've begun to linger outside the club, after performances. Usually, after an hour or so, the performers themselves would begin to filter out, seeming physically unaffected by whatever transpired in the club that night. Some patrons, probably with thoughts similar to mine, would approach them, with varying degrees of confidence. The performers’ responses, as well as the club guards', varied as well. A lot of the time the encounters seemed benign, at least from the outside - a convivial exchange, perhaps a tip and a handshake or an embrace, perhaps even a small kiss. Other times, and I could feel it happening almost before it did, the patron would presume too much, and the encounter would turn sour.

I would look away from those for two reasons - first, while I could understand them, those would-be romantics, I cared not to think I was like them. I liked to think I would never presume so. Secondly, the result of provoking the guards would generally be lethal, or at least include some kind of physical assurance that such behaviour would not be possible for the troublemaker in the future. So I looked away, most times, and reminded myself that this is a place quite outside of mundane laws, and besides such responses probably come from experience. The guards, unlike the performers, lacked beauty in their actions - but they were quite efficient in achieving their desired results. When I did permit myself a glance, after the fact, I shuddered at the brutality. At the same time, I could not help noting the lack of weapons, or other implements, being carried by the guards. I could not help noticing that as brutal as their treatment of a troublemaker was, they always remained extremely clean. In some ways, I could appreciate that, at least.

And whenever the performance included Her, amongst the others, there I would see Her. I have idly thought that perhaps outside She would be less fascinating, less viciously alluring. I was wrong. In the strange violet light of the street, my heart would flutter at the sight of Her, my thoughts became muddled, my feet turned to stone and my hands to useless wooden things I didn't know where to put. Usually She would spare no glances to the audience, ignore entirely any attempts at conversations, and walk away sharply, and yet with such grace and speed I could swear the pavement would blur and change around her, frantically attempting to please her. That, I could certainly understand.

More often than not, a patron would try to follow Her and offer something - flowers, seeming entirely out of place, or expensive sweets. Most of the time She would keep walking away, and the admirer would slow in their tracks, despair overtaking them. Sometimes they would harm themselves. I think some of the others so spurned would as well, but could wait for the privacy of their own homes beforehand. Rarely, very rarely, She would take their offering, and afford them a short embrace. Afterwards they would turn away, as if in the throes of a narcotic dream, and stagger in a different direction. Their bliss would be apparent in every movement, but also would a sagginess, as if they have aged, or lost some other part of themselves. Stretched, perhaps, just a bit thinner.

Only one time, however, did I see her look actually pleased when approached. A patron, an elderly looking lady, beckoned her over with a velvet box in her hands. I assumed she would be ignored, but it was not so - they talked for a short while, and I saw the lady opening the box, revealing something I couldn't make out. It was grabbed, and scrutinized, and then the old lady was embraced, and kissed with what looked like genuine affection. I did not know what could instill such a response, but my addled mind would not question Her. The old lady tottered away, seemingly unaffected except for a small, knowing smile on her face, and She walked away in a different direction, but with quite the same expression.

And so my obsession has grown a new facet. There are things that She appreciates. And so, besides the now quite regular daydream, a new one has risen, one so unanchored in reality I often felt a furtive shame whenever I came back to reality from it. Suppose I approached the old lady, questioned her where she came to find a gift so great it warranted affection from Her. I couldn't, could I? It never occured to me to approach another patron. Almost all of them seemed to actively avoid one another, as if they were diseased in some way.  
And the old lady would almost certainly know Her name, wouldn't she? It seems an afterthought, to think of a name for Her. She has begun to take such a role in my mind, She didn't require referring more specific than... Her.

It seemed to take weeks, the wrestling in my mind, if I should make an attempt, an approach. Visions of horror would rise unbidden - the old lady clicking her tongue at me, telling me I should leave well enough alone, and She would see it happen. Put me down as another nobody that might one day bother Her, no real worth for Her time. But suppose it would work? Suppose I would find a way deeper into this new world I have discovered, a way that would include Her approval?

Like I said, it seemed to take weeks to make a decision. In reality, it only took two days. I liked to think that if I didn't decide so quickly, and decide what I did, the dreams would drive me mad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first and only fic I have ever written, no other media product has left such a profound impression on me and such a desire to write a fanfiction about it.
> 
> Current schedule is to publish a new chapter every week.
> 
> This work as a whole features wonderful editing by Thorn.


	3. Transfiguring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Enid meets an acquaintance.

I had expected to have words with the old woman. Plead with her, perhaps bargain somehow for knowledge. What I did not expect, that night after the performance at the club, when I approached her and nervously introduced myself, was silence.

“My name is Enid, and I want to know all I can about...” the words ran dry in my throat, and not because I didn't know what to say. I had practiced. A chill wind passed between us, as the old lady eyed me over with a kindly expression, silent. Her silence was not a normal lack of speech - her silence was powerful, her silence could overtake the words I wanted to say and render them into nothing. Finally, she smiled, and said:  
“Her name is Renira.”

Renira! What a wonderful name! I was just about ready to burst now with excited words of thanks and further interrogation, but once again I felt a chill, this time more severe. Numbly I knew whatever I had to say was not necessary. The old lady considered me for a few moments, during which I shivered intensely, and I knew that no matter what I wanted to say, she already knew enough. She was weighing me with her eyes, deciding if to waste her time on me or not. Finally, the cold seemed to abate, and a more regular atmosphere returned. She beckoned me to walk with her, and said,  
“I suppose we had better talk.”  
That would be a relief, but I couldn't help but feel she said this with great reluctance.

I do not remember the way we took by heart, far from it, but I know for a fact that she did not reside within those strange streets. No, walking with a brisk pace she lead me back into the real city. The noises of the city night grew around us, but always at some distance - as if we were surrounded by quiet, warding anything else away. Finally she had approached an old building - I expected nothing else - and unlocked the front door. We climbed down steps until we reached a basement apartment, inside of which I was summarily seated.

I looked around as the old woman busied herself in the kitchen. There were several paintings hung on the walls, and an incomplete one on an easel. A painter. The details seemed quite vague, at least from where I sat, but I did make out several figures, none of them quite human. There was what appeared to be a humanoid dove, busy at work with quill and ink, inscribing something. There were several versions of what I felt ought to be the sun, but no rendition of the sun I ever saw was so rent and wounded, with thick black blood trickling down unto the world below. Finally, I recognized what must have been a wolf, or several wolves trying desperately to claw themselves apart from the same body. I shuddered. The basement was cool, but the paintings gave off a chill entirely of their own, I knew it. I was afraid - afraid of the old woman whose brisk walk would put me in mind of a funeral procession. Afraid of the dying sun on her walls, afraid of the wolf and the utmost hatred it showed with so, so many bared teeth. 

Still, I knew why I was there; I knew I had to know.  
The old lady came from the kitchen, bearing a tea set, and set it down on the table before me. She sat down herself, gave me a little smile and poured some tea and milk into her own cup, beckoning me to have some as well. I did, and I suppose I wasn't surprised that the tea was cold, and the milk almost frozen. But it did seem to have a sweetness to it I could relish, and it didn't seem to make me colder than I already was. I took several good sips, and then smiled a polite smile.

“I've mentioned my name is Enid...” I prompted her.  
“Yes, dear.” She cut me off. I felt a pang of panic, but she kept on smiling, and I relaxed somewhat.  
“I’m Violet.” she mentioned, sipping her tea.  
“These are... lovely paintings, Violet.” It wasn't a lie, not truly. The subject matter terrified me, true, but the technique was quite compelling.  
“Oh, thank you dear, thank you so much. I do love to paint those little scenes.” she smiled even more, turning a bit in her chair to admire her art. I tried not to look at it again.  
“I was hoping you could tell me a bit about...” I stopped myself, not sure how to proceed. She was politely waiting for me to continue, dipping a biscuit into her tea. More about Renira? Or about the gift she gave Her, where one might procure such items?

“Only that I saw you give her something, some nights ago.” I finally blurted out. I suppose it was better than nothing.  
“Ah... yes.” She said at length, as if she had trouble remembering. “And what business do you have with gifts I choose to give my friends?”  
“It's just that I-”  
“No, dearie, perhaps I haven't asked the right question. Who are you? What do you want?” Her smile disappeared. Her tone had changed, becoming severe and sharp. A cold wind blew throughout the room, and in retrospect I do not know where it came from. A thousand answers whirled in my mind, lies, half-truths, things that were technically true but only quite technically, and would make me seem somehow better. I tried to consider them, but the silence in the room deepened, and deepend again until I could feel it tugging at me, pulling the words out of my mouth so that something may fill it.

“I've begun to have strange dreams, strange thoughts. Things that are not... right. Things that shouldn't be and yet are. I became restless and so I took to walking at night, until somehow I came upon those strange streets I did not recognize. Eventually, I found the Club, and attending would... quiet the thoughts. Ease the every day. I started visiting regularly.”  
She nodded at this point slightly. Maybe it wasn't the first time Violet heard such a tale. maybe she could relate personally. I continued on.

“I've begun to recognize some of the more compelling performers, but in particular He-Renira. I think about her most particularly...” I shifted in my seat, unsure how to proceed, but Violet nodded as if she knew exactly what I meant.  
“Almost after every performance I see people trying to approach Her, desperate for some attention, a modicum of affection. You and your gift were the only things she seemed to take a genuine interest in.” And I so wish She would take such an interest in me, I finished lamely in my mind. How foolish I must have sounded. Still, I was quite done explaining myself, and looked at Violet and her strange, small smile. How could she look so understanding? How could she even pretend to know the whirlwind of emotions and obsession I opened before her?  
And still, she smiled. When she finally spoke, I breathed suddenly, as if I hadn't until then.

“I think we might be able to help each other, dearie.” She said, her tone once again sweet. A fear rose in me.  
“You want something from me?”  
“In a way. Oh, do not fret, dear, I intend no harm upon you. Oh no. Of course, young Renira might have different intentions...” She smiled at me knowingly, and I winced at the barbed comment. In the dreams, Renira would inflict pain upon me, but the pain bloomed so beautifully...  
I met her gaze. I knew what I was here for.  
“What do you want?”  
Violet leaned in then, now much more interested than she seemed beforehand.  
“What's been going on in your dreams, dear?”

 

The next few days were a blur. I told her, of course, of the serpents and the doors and wounds opening in the skin of the world. She seemed to recognize the subject immediately, and left without word to peruse a collection of musty books. Finally she produced a thick notebook, which she pushed into my hands, and told me to return once I “understood”. I meant to argue, but thought better of it and only said that I would. Flipping through it in my home, it seemed to consist entirely of the observations of a researcher regarding the dreams of artisans, locksmiths in particular. I couldn't understand the relevance, but kept reading. If I understood whatever meaning there was to be had in this, Violet would tell me more, and I knew I had no leads besides her. Leads to Renira. Leads to Her. 

As I read feverishly by lamplight, every night after work, the parallels between the dreams of various locksmiths became more apparent, as did the researcher's speculations. Sooner or later, all locksmiths dreamed the same dream, in seven possible phases. They dreamed of a house without walls, a house with seven doors. A different opening of oneself required to open each one... The number seven would appear again and again, parallels would draw between the human anatomy and the doors of The House. Finally, I thought I had understood all that can be gleaned from this research. As I closed the notebook I pondered the scholar’s unfamiliar name, and wondered if one day I might meet this Galmier person. Perhaps when I would be more well versed in… this. In any case I now knew I did not need to be a locksmith, not anymore. The dream would come to me, so long as I made a small opening in the sole of my foot, comparable to a snakebite. It must be at a certain time of night before sleep. A small sacrifice, to be sure. I felt the wound throbbing gently as I passed through the doors of sleep, and in that strange time between wakefulness and oblivion I swore it was not the wound at all. The walls around me were throbbing. The skin of the world was humming; a wound much older than me ached, somewhere.

In the dream, I found myself in a wood. Later on I would recognize it as a familiar backdrop from the many performances of the Ecdysis Club, but in the dream it was unfamiliar, and I was afraid and lost. I limped, my foot aching, through more forest paths than I could count, the darkness almost a solid mass before me. What seemed like hours upon hours passed. Despair washed through me, and I thought I was lost. Lost beyond words in the dark wood, where pale moonlight filters through the trees but only just. It might sound overly romantic, but when I thought the despair was going to freeze my veins from within, I thought of Her, and a warmth spread through me, a fire, a thirst. I knew I must press on.

It was then that I saw the serpent. It slithered in a ditch besides me, going slowly but with much purpose. Afraid and despairing as I was, I felt immensely relieved seeing such a familiar figure. I carefully walked beside it, until it led me to a maze of roots. By instinct I bent low and then crawled on the ground after the serpent making its way forward, through narrow crevices and undergrowths. Strange, organic hanging things brushed against me as I crawled through that place, and I still do not know what they were - vines could not possibly feel so much like hair.  
Finally we emerged, and I saw before me a great jagged rock. The serpent had slithered off, but my despair had abated and was replaced with purpose. I knew I would find the way again, and the wood held no more terrors for me. I walked towards the rock, intent on knowing its secrets. It was a lost thing, I knew. Not lost like I was, in the darkened Wood, but lost to the world. A remnant of something gone. Lichen grew on it in patches, and old signs of eyes were carved on it. I placed my hand upon it. 

It was cold, colder than the wood and colder than the basement where Violet lived. The cold spread like needles of glass, reaching my arm and my veins and my bones, tried to pacify and drag me into a sleep deeper than sleep. I should have been afraid, I should have pulled away. But I was not, and I did not.  
Instead, I called out to the serpents of the world or the serpents beyond or any that might hear. I have opened myself, and so must the rock before me. I did not know from where the words came to me, but I said them all the same. My wound ached, and I felt it open as if I had just inflicted it. Beneath the rock’s surface I began to feel movement, a slithering. I saw cracks in the rock, hidden. They were not apparent on its surface, but I felt that if I moved my hands just so I could grab hold of them, and - there - tug and force them open. The cold did not relent, but rock began to groan open, almost begrudgingly. Behind lay a quiet place - not the quiet of the dead, but the quiet of distant memories, almost gone from this world. I felt that I knew something then, as I explored that temple. I felt I knew something of the memorial it served as. I felt a glimpse of Gods - Gods that were once here, Gods that were of this stone, but are now almost nowhere - only here they remain, now, in memory.

That is when I woke, and that is when I knew, the thought massive and steady in my mind, that cracks like the ones I saw could be found anywhere. Not just the kingdoms of sleep. I felt a wonderful shiver of accomplishment there, in my small bed, and once again felt my wound ache slightly, once again felt like it was only mirroring many, many other wounds in the world. Before falling asleep, my thoughts turned once again to Her. I have opened my way to Her, now, and I will not be afraid of the path ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first and only fic I have ever written, no other media product has left such a profound impression on me and such a desire to write a fanfiction about it.
> 
> Current schedule is to publish a new chapter every week.
> 
> This work as a whole features wonderful editing by Thorn.


	4. Fracturing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Enid goes on an expedition.

Violet said I had a week to prepare. I was to pack for two weeks of travel, bring adequate funds for lodgings, sustenance and travel for myself, cut off any current engagements, and 'meditate on what I learned.' I wasn't entirely sure on the last part, but I've handed in a formal letter of resignation from my work, and left without stopping to explain. In the small room where I lived I rummaged through my clothing, sorted out two weeks’ worth of them and added some extra linens, and finally took out my box of savings. It was a fairly decent sum - enough to get by for a month or two without work, easily. I rationed out an amount that seemed reasonable and put the rest back, idly wondering if I could budget Club visits into it. Finally, I purchased a bag fit for travel, rope, and a small travel lamp. I didn't know where we were headed, but I did not want to be caught unready. My dreams during that week are hard to recall, but I am certain I saw more serpents, and a figure above them, looming in the darkness, with a bright smile. Renira still appeared in some, I am sure of that as well, but not as frequently as before. Maybe my waking hours included enough anticipation and fear already.

At the end of the week, as instructed, I came to Violet's apartment building, waiting outside with my gear. After a few minutes of waiting she came out, and motioned me to follow her. We didn't exchange a word as she lead me, at a pace much quicker than you would expect, towards the docks and finally onboard a ship, heading to the continent. We shared a small cabin together, and only there, and still infrequently, did we speak.  
“I assume the research was useful to you?”   
“Yes.” My voice was soft. Was I always this timid?  
“Yes, it was,” I repeated, trying to sound more confident. “It was fascinating.”  
“I'm sure it was, dear.” She smiled kindly. “The Mother appreciates a keen interest.”  
“The Mother?” I was uncertain, now. The research notes certainly did not mention anything of the kind. I read it so many times I knew some parts by heart.  
“Don't fret, dear.” She waved her hand as if to pacify me. “You will become acquainted soon enough, if you haven't already.”

Other than that, Violet liked her silence, and I certainly did not try to rouse her out of it. I kept to myself, and took to writing down my recent experiences. I wondered if some day I'll read it again - it would mean I somehow managed to forget. Violet took to drawing in a notebook of hers - she was very modest about it, but let me watch occasionally. Her technique was somehow calming, graceful as falling snow. Still I did not know how could such beautiful lines and curves turn into the unsettling things she liked to draw. The Wolf, again, tearing against itself, tearing against the world. The Sun, pale and horrid, dying. And the dove-person, always writing little poems that were drawn as scribbles, and still gave off the impression of mourning texts.

Little happened that was of interest, after we arrived on the continent. We began to take stage coaches to areas more and more rural, sleeping in inns when they were available and in barns when they were not. The people we met were perhaps not fluent in our tongue, but our money was good enough to get us where we wanted - where Violet wanted. At no point did she explain our purpose, and yet I knew why we were here - we were going to find something special, unique, something of interest to Renira. I did not know why we had to travel so far, but I questioned nothing.

Finally, after a train ride and several coaches, Violet opened and consulted a map. She studied it, reflected, and finally put it back and knocked on the coach roof, so that the driver would stop at the nearest town. I didn't know how they could understand her non-verbal communications, but they did. Everybody did, and I wasn't sure if they were aware of the fact she barely ever spoke.

We got off the coach and I surveyed the area. It was a small town, rather provincial. Violet took out some notes, studied them, and then beckoned me to follow. We trekked through the town centre, attracting only a few odd looks, and kept going until we found what looked like a museum. It was very clearly closed, and evidently had been for many years. A great iron gate was locked with several lengths of chain, and all the windows were boarded. Violet looked at me, smiled, and then looked at the gate. 

The experience was perhaps not as dramatic as it was in the dream. Nevertheless, I put my hands on the chains and padlocks, and concentrated until I could feel a movement within them. My hands reached into them, found cracks that were there and not there, and I felt a small exhilaration as I slowly plied them apart. The iron groaned, and almost at once the chains fell around me, twisted and broken, slithering out of the locks that held them. I pushed open the gate, and Violet walked through, entirely nonplussed. Above the building entrance, I made a note of the scratched inscription from which I could make out the word “Vanderschaaf”. I hurried after her.

The building itself was in poor repair, and entirely deserted. The exhibits were long gone, and the floor was lined with holes. In them grew wild flowers, but none like I have ever seen before. I wasn't sure if flowers could have petals so bright, and seem quite so appetizing. The scent was quite strong - sweet, fresh, inviting, and yet somehow suffocating. Violet walked with purpose amongst these, and I hurried after her, trying to look away from the blossoms. She lead me further and further in, until we arrived at a closed door to what looked like a store-room. Once again, she smiled at me and at the door.

Once again I stepped forward, and put my hands to the door. I thought of serpents, thought of cracks, of wounds that wish to open, and will before me. I tried to push my fingers further into the door, reach beyond its exterior to tug at its weaknesses...  
And the door denied me.  
It was not verbal, or even particularly physical, but my fingers were easily pushed back out. There was something about this door in particular, I knew. It was as if it did not wish to be opened, and somehow I knew that a door with such a force of will could withstand a battering ram, nevermind my prying. Still, I was here for a reason. I tried again, and again the door's purpose was stronger, its cracks and vulnerabilities hidden from me. 

A chill settled into the room.  
“Having trouble, dear?”  
Violet's voice was so soft, and yet could instill such dread. I swallowed back tears of panic. I could not lie.  
“Yes.”  
I heard a sigh, and looked back at her. Violet did not seem angry. She brought her bag forward, and began to rummage through it. The chill atmosphere lingered, but just then I knew that it was not going to harm me.  
“I was hoping not to use this, but if needs must.” She finally said, and pulled out a small package. She opened it carefully, revealing a purple-tinted glass bottle. It had no label. She gave it to me, wordless, and I knew that whatever it was, I must drink it.

At this point I was afraid, extremely afraid. I followed this woman so far, did her bidding without question, put my trust in her that whatever we do would help me - but I was afraid, afraid of drinking from this strange bottle that she handed me, afraid of asking what was in it. I turned it in my hands again and again, as if it might have a label I couldn't see. After some scrutiny, I did notice something. The glass was cracked, and yet the liquid did not leak out. Bringing it closer to my face, I realized it was a very familiar sort of crack. I felt my dread recede, and once again thought of Her and why I'm here. I was still apprehensive, but I had to follow this mystery with another step forward.

And so I drank it, at least a large mouthful before it dropped from my hands. The taste was horrendous, and it burned in my mouth and down my throat and in my guts. My vision did not go black - but the colors around me seemed to bleed away, the world turning into blacks and whites, Violet blurring away until her figure was only a suggestion. I held my stomach, shuddering with pain, and a voice spoke to me.

“Well, I suppose that is one way to do it.”  
It was soft, and female, and sounded like it was about to laugh. It wasn't Violet's voice, and I looked around frantically until finally I saw her.  
She was tall. She wore what looked like a dress made from snakeskin. She had several arms, and she bled profusely from wounds across her body. The blood was stark red, the only color I could now see, and so were her eyes. I heard hissing, and looking down I saw snakes emerging from the rivulets of blood, circling her. I gasped, still holding unto my burning guts.

She smiled at me.  
“I understand if you can't speak right now, little key. Let me explain some things to you, shall I?”  
I gasped again, trying for words and failing. I tasted blood in my mouth.  
“I am The Mother, and on some occasions I am called Daughter of Venoms. Tell me, do you know the meaning of wounds?” Her tone was friendly, and only slightly condescending.  
I felt a throbbing throughout my body, cracks opening and lining my insides. I managed a nod, blood dripping past my lips. The pain was being replaced with shock, I numbly thought.  
“You do. That venom you so willingly took is a way to open yourself - it opens your body in uncountable places, and I consider you doing so a kind of... favor to me. I do appreciate wounds made willingly.”  
She gave me a big smile. I coughed blood, once again, trying not to think of the horrid liquid ravaging my body. Despite everything, her smile was still somehow reassuring to me.  
“Now, I assume you are having an issue with that door - some just do not seem to approve of opening. Tsk, tsk. Nod for me, child?” She looked at the door and then at me, still smiling, and I managed another nod.  
“Alright. Take this...” She reached down and plucked from the ground a serpent made of blood, still seemingly dripping from her body. She handed it to me, and I weakly tried to reach for it, but she shook her head and simply pressed it into my chest. There was a small flash of pain, and then there was nothing.

All I saw was black. The pain within me was gone, but I thought I had now gone blind. I turned my head around me, and slowly managed to make out figures in the darkness. I was still in the museum, and a white outline suggested itself to be Violet, sitting patiently on the floor. Behind me, I saw the outline of the door. I saw it truly then - it was a simple door, once, but it has since been warded, bestowed with purpose to never open again. I moved towards it slowly, as if in a dream, and put a hand upon it.

I felt a slither. A tug. The door's exterior felt... malleable. I pushed my fingers into it with slow, serpentine movements. What I found was not exactly a crack, it was a will. It was afraid, but resolute. I caressed it gently in my palm, like a precious heirloom. It burned against my hand in defiance, but I closed my fingers around it more and more, constricting, pressing - until finally it was no more.

The door groaned, and now I could see the cracks lining it, bright as daylight. I reached into them, and took almost no effort to pry them open. The door shuddered, creaked, and then gave way.  
“All doors must open, as all lives...” I mumbled softly, the words coming to me naturally. All lives must end. All doors must open, and I have brought the end to this one.

My vision was still impaired, but colour was bleeding back into the world, as was the pain throughout my body. I saw Violet coming towards me, wordlessly bidding me to sit down while she went inside. Through the door, I heard whispers, and saw a painted chamber, lined with historical scenes. The scenes did not seem... correct, like they did not come from the history I knew. Pain once again rose within me, sharp and terrible, and my vision blurred. I could just about make out Violet standing in the chamber, mist whirling around her and clinging to her body, whispers rising from it. She spoke quietly then, of the Elegiast, from whom nothing more can be taken. She knew what was lost to her, and so the whispers could take nothing more. A chill rose around her, gentle but absolute. The whispers abated at her words, the mist recoiled back and shriveled. She nodded gently, gave a curious look to exhibitions I could not make out, and then opened a coffer and began sorting out what was inside. It was at that point that I finally fainted.

The next week passed in a blur. Sometimes I could make out Violet standing above me, whispering things I could not make out. I was almost always cold, but the cold seemed to surround me, protect me like a blanket. I distinctly recall Violet looking into my eyes intently, and whispering that this would not be my end. Sometimes I saw The Mother just at the edge of my vision, and she would put a finger to her lips and give me a wink.  
Other times I saw Renira, and longed to be well enough to see Her again. The pain was constant, and I was horribly weak. Violet would feed me a thin, cold soup, very patiently, and clean me whenever she could. At last, I knew we had travelled once again by boat, and then by coach.

I woke in an unfamiliar room, lying on a bed. I still felt sharp needles in my stomach as I tried to move, but I felt stronger than I was before, and raised myself to a sitting position. This wasn't Violet's apartment, nor mine. There were no windows in the room, and the shelves were lined with what looked like gifts. Flowers, with very long notes attached to them. Strewn jewelry that looked extremely expensive. Some bits of crumpled, stained crepe paper, their contents still hidden inside. My mind was still muddled, but a small thought rose in it - who would own a room such as this?

And as the answer rose, slowly but surely to the tip of my tongue, I heard a knock, and Renira opened the door and looked down at me.  
“Ah, you're awake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first and only fic I have ever written, no other media product has left such a profound impression on me and such a desire to write a fanfiction about it.
> 
> Current schedule is to publish a new chapter every week.
> 
> This work as a whole features wonderful editing by Thorn.


	5. Renewing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a reshaping takes place.

“Hold still, will you?” Renira snapped. I tried to force my mouth to keep from shaking as she fed me soup. Truth be told, I was not only shaking because of the spasms and the pain that would shoot throughout my body every few minutes. I was not shaking because everywhere I looked, at the edge of my vision, I could see cracks and lines, hidden in the skin of existence. No, I think I was mainly shaking because of Her. She was propping my head up with one hand, and feeding me soup with the other. Her face was so close to mine! Her hand was so smooth! Her features beautiful, Her scent intoxicating. Occasionally, I could feel Her nails in my scalp, and tried not to shudder even more. How could She treat this as normal? How could She pretend this is not below Her?

Apparently the bowl was now empty, as She fed me one last spoonful and put it away, letting my head down gently unto the pillow. I knew the soup nourished me, and it did seem to give me some strength and keep the delirium away, but still I felt as though I was truly dying. I'm fairly certain Violet came in once or twice, helped feed me and keep me clean, but she didn't say anything. She just smiled at me, and at Renira, and sometimes she would sit down to sketch me in my indignable suffering. I did not mind, not truly, because my mind was far too occupied with pain, and with Her. I saw her leave a pack for me, once, and heard her telling Renira it's my share. Muddled as I was, I did wonder what a share of anything could matter if I died.

It did not worry me as much as it probably should have, the thought of death. Then again, it was very hard to focus on anything but Her presence, or Her absence, or the heady scent that would accompany Her whenever She entered the room. It vaguely reminded me of the museum, and the plump flowers that grew there, so enticing. I slept a lot, of that I am sure, and beyond the doors of sleep I found myself once again in the Wood, walking along its paths. Once or twice I would have purpose, and find my way to the Temple - now easier to open than ever - but most of the time I simply explored. I knew no fear in that place, only wonder at the strange places I discovered. Paths that wound round and round in darkness, where I fought the urge to drop to all-fours and nose amongst roots. A well that swelled with moonlight and dying moths. It was a strange escape from the pain, but it was fascinating.

Finally, after several lengths of waking and sleeping, Renira entered the room without a bowl of soup, but with a thick book. She laid it open, beside me, and then produced a few more items, which she showed me with a sly smile and silence. A small box of scorched wood, filled with dark, gleaming crystals that radiated heat, and a glass bottle, filled to the brim with what looked like a dark red nectar. Even stoppered, it smelled incredibly sweet. Not cloyingly so, just... tempting. It, too, smelled like those strange flowers.  
“This is actually from your little adventure, you know. Violet said you would want me to have it,” She mentioned, tapping the bottle and smiling.  
“The scholars say it used to grant immortality. Or still does, but not... here. Not now.” She frowned a bit, and my heart sank with it. Between my spasms and the spikes of pain ravaging my body, it seems silly to admit I still reacted most physically to anything She did. But it was what it was, and I do not feel anyone who knew the extent of my feelings would dare scoff at the reaction.

“In any case, Violet says this should be all I need,” She continued, smiling now.  
“Used to have a lad around to handle all this smoke and brimstone, a natural with the oven, but he's away and this should do just fine.” She sat next to me now. I didn't understand what She said, but I did not wonder too much, either. She said what she said, and seemed sure of it. I was certain it was true, I just needed to know more to understand what it meant.  
“Okay,” She cleared her throat, turned a few pages in the book, then ran a hand over my abdomen. I shivered, relishing her touch. She raised her eyebrows at me as if I was behaving oddly, tugged my shift upwards to reveal my stomach, raised the book, and began chanting.

The heat arrived in the room almost in tandem with her words. Her tone was much different than usual. It was deeper, heavier. I could not understand what language she spoke. It sounded Semitic, or something close. Perhaps it was Aramaic, but at the time I could not be sure. It was like a prayer, I thought, and closing my eyes I could see something. Behind my eyelids was an incandescence, coming closer to the world with each word, consuming. Renira laid a hand on my bare stomach. It was terribly hot, painfully so, but I could not shift away. I kept my eyes closed, not daring to look as I felt the skin being seared and opened, retreating from the blaze. The air itself grew thicker, stifling, with every moment. I then heard a movement, Renira's hand withdrew from me and I felt things falling on my skin - the crystals, I knew. They seared more than her touch, but at the same time provided a measure of numbness. I began to feel strange, as if I am detached from the fire consuming my frail body like a twig. Renira was still chanting, and the thing I saw behind closed eyes drew closer still - a great furnace, heading towards me, or perhaps pulling me towards it. It drew closer, and closer, and the heat became so intense I thought I would faint, when finally the chant ended. I heard Renira cough heavily.  
“Throaty language, if I ever spoke one. Excuse me.” She gave a last cough, and I felt the furnace was terribly close, but not getting closer, and not quite close enough to consume me.

The heat in the air receded, but only just, and I heard a bottle being unstoppered. The bottle, of course, the nectar. Was I going to drink from it? But once again I felt Renira's hand on me, this time her touch slick and wet. At first I thought it was blood, but it was far too sticky. She lathered it all across the places that burned, but the flames I felt did not go out - not as such. Instead, I heard a sizzling noise, and smelled smoke. Again, this time with satisfaction, Renira spoke.  
“Flame destroys and renews you, and blood will tamper you.” I felt an edge to her voice, as if she was not speaking only to me. Still, it felt as if her words caused something - the heat changed, now not a sear, but a warmth, spreading throughout. I dared open my eyes, and saw my skin, blackened and boiling wherever it was touched, beginning to heal rapidly. A few open spots closed, scabs grew all over, before falling away and revealing pink, new skin. I expected a spike of pain or a spasm to shoot through me then, but they simply failed to arrive. I stared at Renira, then, wordless. I think I could speak, at the time, although I couldn't beforehand, but words would not arrive in my throat. What had just happened? The heat dissipated as thoughts rushed through me, clearer than they ever were these past few days, but I had no explanation, no clear course of action; all I had was bewilderment.  
Bewilderment, and fascination, and curiosity, and more love than I thought I could ever feel for anyone.

“Rest, now. Sleep. I expect you will be up and about in the morning.” Renira was smiling, looking down at me, as she began to put away the items she used. I idly thought that it seemed only natural that she would look down at me. What was I for her? A wounded bird? A worm? A passing curiosity? Nothing. But she was a light, and I was a moth, and I knew I had to get closer. I vaguely noticed her leaving the room, like a wonderful dream that leaves you when you wake. My vision turned much sharper, then. Everything seemed vivid, especially the lines and cracks running through the air, here and there, like hanging cobwebs. My body was warm and tingling, all throughout, but not unpleasantly so. I felt the heat was good to me, just then. The fire I saw did not only destroy, it could also repair, reshape. I slowly fell asleep, my mind riddled with visions of the incandescence, and wonderings about the hidden things of the world, so terrible and so, so beautiful.

 

“More bacon?”  
For some reason, I did not expect Renira to be such an avid eater, but She was. Absolutely so. In the morning I stumbled out of my sickroom, after using the restroom on my own for the first time in more than a week; She was already well into her breakfast. Food was stacked before her in plates and trays, and She dug in with gusto. I sat down heavily in front of her, and She invited me to have as much as I liked.  
“A man comes around every other day, brings more.” She explained, her mouth half full. “So don't be shy. Your body needs to recover properly, now, you need strength.” I idly wondered if She actually pays for any of it. I thought if I was that man, I would probably feel privileged just to be chosen for such a task.

“Renira,” I began softly, “What happened last night?”  
“Well, old Violet let you have a bit of venom, you see.” She finished a mouthful and quickly cleaned her mouth with a napkin. “I can see how it made sense, but it ruined your innards something awful.”  
It only then occurred to me that She never personally told me her name. Perhaps she just assumed that I knew.  
“I gathered that much,” I acknowledged, “But what did you then do to my... innards?”  
I had to know. Terrible knives were lodged in my guts, before, every movement a torture. Like The Mother said, I was full of openings. Now there was... nothing. I suspiciously inspected my body in the restroom mirror, and saw no sign of anything amiss.  
“Damage like that,” She explained, passing me another plate, “you have to call on something a little extraordinary. Now, I'll grant you,  
the Forge is not my favourite. I'm no favourite of Her, neither. But speak the right words, sprinkle the little salts that burn, a few drops of forbidden blood - She, or It, can't exactly say no. Not when the fire is so bright, not when the reshaping proposed is so profound.”  
I nodded, slowly. Like the Mother, I thought. attracted by favors, for which she returned favors of her own. Something did bother me, however.  
“That wasn't blood.” I said it quietly, as if She might scold me.  
But she laughed.  
“Oh, you're good.” She said, sipping some of her tea and smiling, a glint in her eye.  
“The Nectar is not exactly blood, you're right. But it used to be, and it carries a terrific influence.”  
“Ah.” That would be it, then. Once again, knowledge I need to learn, more steps so that I can be more than nothing for her.  
The bacon was wonderful, and the feel and sound of the crackling felt right. Familiar. I remembered a radiance, bright beyond words, that touched me and still let me live, and smiled to Renira, who held me before it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first and only fic I have ever written, no other media product has left such a profound impression on me and such a desire to write a fanfiction about it.
> 
> Current schedule is to publish a new chapter every week.
> 
> This work as a whole features wonderful editing by Thorn.


	6. Trembling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Enid gains deeper understanding.

I spent the day at Renira's. She was studying a book with very close attention, but said She would appreciate some company. I leapt upon the chance, and after tidying the dishes and my sickroom, I decided to look into the pack Violet left me, my share. It did not occur to me for many days afterwards, that after breakfast I did not even consider going to my own home, or doing anything else besides immediately begin serving Renira. It makes me a bit uneasy, even now, to consider how natural it must have felt.

The pack was rather small, but its contents were interesting. First there was a small pouch filled with money - not a lot by any means, but enough to get by for a week or two. Already I could go on longer without work to take up my time, I idly thought. Secondly there was a coin - a silver coin Renira told me is called a Spintria. One side of it was blank, and the other displayed a rather intimate scene between two men. I put it away and asked Renira what was it for. She was already back to Her studying, but without raising Her head mentioned I can use it whenever conventional funds are irrelevant. I decided to take that at face value.

Finally there was a locket, and opening it I saw an icon of an old woman whom I assumed to be a saint of some kind. The icon was extremely detailed and I could see many scars across her face, which seemed rather grisly for a simple icon of a saint. Something felt rather special about that locket in particular, and I assumed Violet left it to me for a reason. The whole day ahead of me, I decided to try and look into it. Renira's library was not large, but she did have current volumes of the Britannica, and I began to look for anything that might be related. The icon had the numbers 1880 written on it, so I began to look for notable figures around that time.

Finally, I have found reference to the 1874 beatification of a Bohemian princess, a certain “Agnes of Bohemia” or “Agnes of Prague”. I thought my interest would wane when I came upon her entry, as she did not perform any proven miracles, and was beatified much after the fact only for her many charitable and Christian acts. I did, however, note a comment on her habits. Agnes lead a personal life lead mainly by praying, obedience, and absolute dedication to the mortification of the flesh. She would fast regularly, and flog herself publicly.  
A proper Catholic, I mused to myself. Deny the flesh, destroy the sins. And Catholic bodies always held sins.

Looking again at the icon, I couldn't help resisting a thought - was it truly what she believed in? Or was there something more? I closed my hand around the locket, and tried to imagine it. Flagellation was a nasty thing, it could injure and score open the flesh in so many places at once. Could she have been trying to open in more than one way? Could it be she longed for the denial of pleasure, for the wounding, not to open the way to Heaven, but to somewhere different?

I remembered a great door, and a way upwards behind it. The door demanded a sacrifice to open, and the sacrifice helped me find my way through the Wood. I knew that so would all the doors and places above them. It made too much sense to ignore. The blessed Agnes, finding a way to pursue such a hidden practice while being a public figure, the charitable and giving abbess. It felt inspiring, to know of someone who came before me and knew such success. If I was right, of course. If.

Holding the locket in my hand and raising it to the light, though, I could have sworn I could see more lines and cracks in the air around it, as if it made them more apparent, more real. I could see the other ones regularly now, usually just at the edge of my vision, even without the locket, but they were fainter. Once again I felt a rush of fascination, of the things hidden from my knowledge. So much to learn...

I tried to discuss my theory with Renira over lunch. I wasn't sure if she paid that much attention - she was eating quite rapidly, and washing most mouthfuls down with wine. I tried to raise the issue again once or twice, but the words died in my throat after only a few tumbled out. Renira wasn't just hungry, she was ravenous. I didn't know what she was studying, but it seemed to put a great drain on Her. I looked over Her shoulder when she began - it seemed a rather unassuming book, although adorned with many illustrations of questionable nature. I couldn't imagine what it could include that would lead to such a response. When finally the plates and trays before us were empty, she wiped her mouth hurriedly with a napkin and levelled Her eyes with mine. I couldn't help noticing a bit of wine, or perhaps some liquid from the beef, still dripping from Her lower lip.

“Are you busy?” She asked.  
“N-no, I mean, not really-” I was stuttering. Something about the way she spoke sounded urgent.  
“Do you think you need more time to recover?” The questions were sharp, quick.  
“No, I don't think so.” I said softly, at length. My body felt strong, alive, as if it has never known weakness.  
“Good.” She wiped at Her mouth again and stood. I stood up as well, ready to take away the dishes, but She began walking and beckoning me to come with Her. I did not think before I followed.

She lead me to Her room. My sickroom was lined with gifts for Her, but this one was filled with them. I saw a couple of bottles that I recognized, filled with that sweet-smelling nectar. I saw wines, and jewelry, and other small knick-knacks, and blood. It was streaked across the walls, everywhere I looked, brighter than any blood should be outside of the body. Her bed was large, and round, and crimson-colored. Had I been a cynic, I would have commented on the colour fixation. Had I been afraid I would have turned and ran. I was afraid, truly, but also fascinated. I could leave, no door could bar my way, but I could stay and find out more. More about this hidden world, more about Her.

And now, as She pushed me gently inside and closed the door behind us, I began to truly notice Her. Her scent, normally heady and sweet but not cloying, was now almost thick enough to be visible. Her skin seemed to glisten with sweat and anticipation.  
“Denial of pleasure?” She said quietly behind me, and I nodded slowly. I said this to Her over lunch. I did not think She paid attention.  
“Let me show you something about denial of pleasure, Enid.”

It happened quickly. Renira pushed me against a wall, almost violently. I tried to resist by instinct, but straps appeared in Her hands and closed around mine, constricting me to the wall. She stripped the clothes from me, tearing them to the ground. I felt as if I was once again watching a very particular play in the Club, the kind that would leave me with dry lips and a burning desire. Now I was in it, I was it. And before I knew it, Renira was kissing me. Her mouth was hot, extremely hot, but it was a heat I only wanted to get closer to. I kissed back, with a passion I do not think I ever held for anything before. My hands were bound but my legs were frantically trying to touch Her more, wrap around Her like a snake, absorb some of Her heat. She stopped kissing me for a moment, only to bind my legs to the wall as well, spread apart. I tried to resist, offer a fight, but I did not truly want to. Once again I wanted this wonderful spiral to proceed another time. It did not matter if the direction was upwards, or in the case of Renira's mouth, giving me wet and burning kisses on the ear, then the lips, then the top of my chest, downwards.

I would like to say I have found satisfaction in that special attention Renira has given me. I would like to say She shook me again and again like a bottle of fine champagne, but finally unstoppered and let me have my release. But never did Renira pretend to be a kind mistress, and She did not. Again and again she took Her time to please me, with pain or with subtle touch or with both, and again and again She bid me tell Her when I was ready. Again and again my mouth betrayed my body, and told Her, even knowing that it would cause Her to stop, and have me please Her instead. And she did not tire or slow down - the pleasures I gave Her in return, which She assured me were quite sufficient, seemed to only be devoured by Her, and replaced with the appetite for more.  
Finally, after what must have been hours, I was at the edge yet again. My mind was numb with pleasure, my body wracked with conflicting senses of pain and arousal. I was shuddering, wishing to be given even more, more of anything, any sensation to feed me. At the same time I wished to finally be allowed a release, to tumble down from this mountain and face sweet oblivion. My vision was swimming, excited stars shooting across it, the walls of the room throbbing to be let open.

Renira was mouthing something close to my ear. I tried to focus on Her, and She smiled at me, Her teeth sharp and wet.  
“W-what?” I tried to say, the effort of coherent speech straining me.  
“I asked if you wanted more, sweet Enid. I asked if you really wanted to devour, and be devoured.” The last words widened Her smile, and I groaned looking at Her mouth, longing for it to kiss me again. Still, something felt off about those words in particular. Between the roses, a thorn of dread rose.  
“What?” I asked again, trying to shake myself from the clutches of numbness. What She was asking wasn't part of the experience; It was something more. I could see cracks all around me where light leaked through, I could escape into that light -

She frowned at my response, and my heart sank. If she frowns I won't receive any more - but I shook away the thought. What did She mean?  
“Do you want to give yourself to me, completely and fully?” She asked, Her voice sweet and tender now. The affirmative rose in my throat almost immediately, almost came out of my mouth before I could think of it. The air around us grew heavier still with desire, and another shudder passed through me.  
“No.” I managed to say. This was a step I knew was beyond return. She meant the giving to be more than I wagered, I was sure of that.

She frowned again, but this time I did not waver. I was ready to burst with need, but those devoured cannot be undevoured, and I would not lock myself beyond this world just now. With barely a tug of my wrist, one belt opened around my arm. With a few more, I was no longer restrained. I almost fell forward, weak and needy with red, raw hunger. I managed to just fall to my knees before Her. Once again She was looking down at me, making me feel it was precisely my place.

“Besides,” I heard a soft and somewhat cheerful voice besides me,  
“You already belong to me.”  
I did not look to the side. I did not need to. I heard the sound of dripping blood, and the slithering of serpents, and knew The Mother was near. I blinked once, and knew she was gone.  
“I can't give myself to you, Renira.” I said, forcing myself to lock eyes with Her. Were Her eyes always red? Quite so bright, and catlike?  
“Not... not the way you mean.” I continued, my will somehow dragging the words out, even though my body was still quivering.

“Well,” She said, with only a tad of disappointment, and I felt the air grow lighter. Less urgent.  
“I suppose it would not be right, no.” She seemed to shake something out of Her mind. The air grew lighter still, though I was still heady with desire. Looking into Her eyes, they seemed a more human colour now.  
“Come,” She beckoned, offering a hand to help me up.  
“Let's lie in bed a while. I've read about the most fascinating practices today...”  
This, I knew, would be alright. Quite welcome, even. I walked unsteadily, and around me the walls throbbed, as if ready to be thrown open into endless night.

I awoke in the small hours of that night, noticing Renira's absence besides me. I have slept heavily, as if drugged, with no dreams at all, and awoke completely refreshed. My legs still felt a bit weak, but I was glad the memory was kept somewhere physical, even for a short while. My legs would rest more, and the marks would disappear eventually, but I hoped the memory would stay as tart and delicious for years to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first and only fic I have ever written, no other media product has left such a profound impression on me and such a desire to write a fanfiction about it.
> 
> Current schedule is to publish a new chapter every week.
> 
> This work as a whole features wonderful editing by Thorn.


	7. Splintering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Enid meets an acquaintance .

I packed up my belongings in a daze. Last night had been amazing, I thought, but surely I needed to return home now. I should not overstay my welcome, I thought as my fingers brushed against the walls on the way out. I was in an unfamiliar part of the city but nevertheless my feet took me home, my mind much too preoccupied to take notice. I thought of an incandescence, of a heat that could have consumed me yet did not. I thought of a hunger fiercer than any lack of sustenance which gnawed at me until it was finally sated. More than sated, really - No amount of pain could mar how well I feasted that night, how utterly satisfied I felt. I imagined Her walking besides me, smiling Her glistening, hungry smile. No, I could not let Her have me completely, but surely She could not object to more nights like these. My legs were tired and at the same time very light, I noted as I turned onto a familiar street. Wonderful.

In my home, I lay in bed and stared up at the ceiling. I knew I could not sleep again, not for a while. I was not hungry either, and yet I felt a need, a panging. Eventually I took out my journal and began to leaf through it. The first time I had been to the Ecdysis Club. The first time I saw Her. Despairing, watching her admirers trail and falter after Her, useless. The writing became feverish regarding the profound concept of gaining Her attention. My meeting with Violet. Then our travels, small scribbles of the countryside. Daydreaming of Her, observing Violet's small quirks. Dreams of serpents, dreams of what I now knew was The Wood. It seemed so far away, my ignorance. Of course I dreamed of serpents. Of course I explored The Wood, the foreboding trees opening before me as easily as dying leaves.

I have not written since that day at the Vanderschaaf Collection. I did not have a real chance to do so. I took my pen, slightly hesitant, and began. It was slow at first, as I tried to piece together the confused memories. I am still unsure as to what was real and what was not. I knew The Mother - at least as I saw her in the Vanderschaaf - was real, even if Violet did not comment on her presence. I did put into doubt the rest I have seen, as I was definitely delirious. Even if Violet entered a room that featured twisted versions of history, even if she warded off something that tried to assail her, I could not trust my eyes to tell me it was so.

Of the way back I could not testify with any more clarity, but I was more certain of the events in Renira's home and onwards. The fire, the heat, the sweet nectar that tempered the flames to warmth. Renira, bidding this fire not destroy me, looking down at me, chanting words that left an acrid smell in the air. Her eyes shining, her hands moving, reshaping my ravaged body. A flood of sensation, almost too much to bear, like blood rushing to awaken a limb. There I lost focus and stopped writing, thinking of Her touch. My pen dropped from my hand as I closed my eyes and tried to will the memory to the forefront of my mind. Oh, She was wonderful to me.

I must have dozed off eventually, because I woke up at noon with remnants of a smile still on my lips. I forced myself to get up, and began putting away the laundry from the expedition. Almost all of it was badly soiled, of course, but I hoped it would clean out. Finally, I have recombined the funds I had on me into my small box, and began to count. After a few minutes I began to assemble a coherent budget, factoring in rent, adequate food, and, of course, further visits to the Club. I would be alright for a month or so without work, I concluded with a satisfied smirk. I had never been out of work for any meaningful amount of time - not since I have began to live alone, and just then I did not feel inclined to return to it. Maybe Violet had more expeditions in mind, ones that did not require consuming hazardous materials. I felt confident that I could help her again, even without venom. Something of The Mother stayed in me, I was sure of it. My eyes found and rested lightly on the cracks in reality around me, now so easy to find. Besides, I thought while fishing out the amulet I received, I had help now.

That night I once again found my way to the Ecdysis Club. I did not feel any particular unease, or any particular itch to go, just that I would enjoy doing it - And of course, I mused to myself, I might meet Renira afterwards. Or Violet - in any case, someone worth seeing. The show was a spectacle that night, dancers flooding the stage, their feet stamping to an ectatic beat. Drummers would mingle amongst them, drums tied to their chests, and they would beat them with iron rings on their fingers. I spotted Renira amidst them, not taking the lead but dancing with fluid yet excited motions. The scenery around the dancers would change - sometimes it would be city streets in the rain, other times the dense and dark Wood, the roots creeping around the dancers. And sometimes the stage would turn completely black, as if they were falling into an endless void, into nowhere, but still they would dance, and they would not, would not, would not cease.

The chairs were arranged somewhat differently that night, and it did not take long to understand why - they were easily pushed back, creating an open area in front of the stage. Patrons, usually quiet and respectful as a whole, quickly flooded in to perform dances of their own, in pairs and in groups and on their own. The beat moved me as well, and before I knew it I was on my feet. I did not try to force my way into the main dancing area, but I just could not help myself. The rhythm was amazing, the movements as natural as breathing. I knew I could put my own flair into it, my hands seeking the patterns of cracks that lined the air, my body contorting and moving with glorious, shifting fractures. I saw Renira, smiling widely into the audience, and wished She would come down to the audience so I could dance with Her. Still, I could not despair, not with the beating drums moving my heart so.

A few hours later the audience scattered to the night, exhilarated and quite out of breath. The Club could always instill a certain atmosphere in its patrons, and this night that atmosphere was purest ecstasy. I leaned on a wall to take some deep breaths, and wondered dreamily when I had last felt such passion. Well, besides the obvious. I had never felt much closeness to other people, and hardly made friends, but it felt as though all under that roof were my friends that night, even if only briefly. Moths in the night, all exulting around a wonderful light that did not burn.

When She finally came out, She was busy talking to someone - a patron or another performer, I couldn't be sure. I didn't know if I should approach Her while she was clearly busy, but my mouth had other plans and called out after Her. She turned to me, mid-speech. “I wou- Yes? Oh, Enid! Hallo!”  
She embraced me, leaving me breathless once again, and then introduced me to the man besides her.  
“Enid, this is Laidlaw. He lives with me.” Oh. She did mention having someone around beforehand. I blinked, and tried not to think too much of it.  
“A pleasure, to be sure.” Laidlaw smiled at me, and offered his hand. His gaze was warm, and I could see something flickering in his eyes as I shook his hand. Have I become especially good at recognizing the signs, or does he just wear them on his sleeve? In any case, the calluses and burns on his hand didn't leave much to the imagination.  
“Well, it was nice to see you” said Renira, taking Laidlaw’s arm in hers. “But we really must be off. Lots of catching up to do, haven't we?”  
“Oh, yes.” Said Laidlaw, still smiling, his gaze still on me. “Lots.”

I hung about near the entrance after they left, thoughts jostling in my mind. Who was he to Her? Friend? Confidant? Lover? Surely not simply a flatmate, not to Her. I leaned against a wall, feeling weak with despair. Have I been a toy for her, to be used only while he was gone? Did She even want to see me again?

Despair roiled in my mind, a tide of dark syrup enveloping my thoughts. I was just like them, just like those poor souls trying to harass Her after work, thinking we might be special to Her. Of course I wasn’t. Maybe nobody was, I thought numbly. Maybe even Laidlaw is just another morsel to her, to play with and consume or throw away…

The last of the Club staff had filtered out, and one lingered behind to lock the door. Despite the pit of despair I had sunk into, I still noticed who it was - one of the entrance guards who would take the entrance fee. He always smiled at me and the other patrons as we entered, but his smile was always tight-lipped. There was something sharp about it, and I always found myself trying to avoid his gaze. He never made me feel as if I did something wrong, just that I should do my best not to.

“If you’re waiting for someone, they probably already left.” He mentioned casually, locking the door and pocketing the keys. I raised my eyes to look at him. He seemed more at ease than usual, but I still felt some vague dread. Still, I softly answered.  
“Yes, they did.”  
He grimaced at that, and looked as if he considered leaving me to my woes there and then.  
“It’s Renira, isn’t it?” He said finally.  
“Yes.”  
The man scratched at his head and muttered, as if he’s thinking of how to say something, and finally the last shred of fear I felt of him dissipated. Normally it felt as though a certain social veil is thinner around him, as if conventions - such as when and where you might commit aggravated assault - are more transient to him. But the feeling was gone now, and I could only feel the natural chill of the night air and my own despair, still thick and cloying.

“You’re not the first--” He began,  
“I know”.  
He grimaced again, and I tensed. Maybe that was a mistake.  
“It’s good that you know,” He continued, irritably.   
“but you’re quiet and don’t make trouble and for me that means you might be a half-decent sort of person. There’s things you should know.”  
“About Her?” Oh, so many things I should.  
“Yes, about Her.” I should’ve noticed it when he said Her name earlier. He mentions Her in a very particular way.

“My name is Elridge,” He said, unbuttoning his jacket. What?  
“And through my service to the Powers that Be, I am as strong as several men and quicker than most.” He threw his jacket aside, and started unbuttoning his dress shirt. I still didn’t feel threatened, but I was very puzzled. There was some truth to his words, I knew that - beneath his shirt I could already see impressive coiled muscles, and sometimes I would see him dealing with a troublesome patron as a mountain lion might deal with a mouse. Still, what is this display for?  
“In my hands I can crush metal. Stone. Most often, bone.” He continued, and finally threw aside his dress shirt, putting himself fully and completely on display.  
His body was so very, very wrong.  
“And I am dying.”

Elridge walked me to my home after he dressed again, and we spoke on the way. He apologized for his gruesome display, but explained he could not think of a better way to convince me of the danger I was in. He became involved with Renira a couple of months ago, after obsessing after Her in a way not dissimilar to mine. Every time they spent the night together, he felt as if he was coming together, becoming more whole. His body did quite the opposite.

He was withered in many places - not as age might look on a man, but as a sudden wasting disease might look if it targeted very specific regions each time it struck. While he did not know what was truly happening, the thing he thought Renira was consuming was his vitality. The same fire that burned in his muscles every time he did violence, siphoned away like a nectar. At some point I asked why she would steal that, and he stopped me - the word ‘steal’ was wrong, he gently explained. Every time he regretted it, and every time he would come back and ask for more. He gave it away willingly, every time, and could not bring himself to demand it back. Not from Her. As to why - He could only assume it was to further Her own considerable power.

“We have all seen the path that goes beyond The Wood,” He explained.  
“And some - many - would stop at nothing to travel it, onwards and upwards.”

My despair turned into horror as he recounted his obsession with Her, so similar to mine, and as I recounted to him my own experience we shared a small laugh at the parallels, and at the differences. No, he did not drink poisons and travel abroad to impress her, but he did murder, and kidnap, and deliver to her the trophies. I did not hear any regret or shame in his voice, but did not really expect to. What she did with the trophies he did not know; but there were no remains. “Like a candle,” He said at some point, and I felt chills travelling up my spine.  
“I might have more wax, but just like the poor sods, I will eventually be consumed to nothing.”  
“Eventually?”  
“Yes.” He said. He stopped in his track at that, and looked at me very seriously.  
“I cannot stop now, Enid. As much as it pains me to say this, I cannot even bring myself to consider it. I might have another week, or a month, or two, depending on her appetites. But this is one thing I cannot fight. You still have a choice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, hasn't it?  
> I regret to inform my life has rendered me extremely busy and extremely anxious at the moment - I'm afraid I was experiencing a spiral of my own for a while. While the situation is more balanced, now, than it was - I'm afraid I can't promise the next publication will necessarily be next week. It might be, it could be, but it also could not be. In any case it will come, and wrap up our little sordid affair.
> 
> This chapter has been wonderfully edited by Wrexalia.


	8. Shifting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Enid departs for not one, but two new adventures.

“You always have a choice, my dear.”  
Violet's voice was quiet, as it always was, and only just so tinged with utter desolation, as it always was. I knew she truly did mean it - I could choose to not go. I could stay, perhaps find new work, try to drown out the howling in my soul as I go back to the regular motions of life. Of course, I could also keep going to the Club. Hope to run into Renira, feign surprise when I do and know that she knows it is a lie. Feel helpless and utterly willing under her gaze. I could, and maybe that would feel good. I know it would feel good.

But the truth was I wanted to go - leave Renira out of sight and just maybe out of mind, if only for a while. I knew Violet could use my help out there, exploring whatever place she deemed worthy, and I knew my reward would be most likely worthwhile. She was not at all helpless, true, but she could always use someone skilled in opening.

As I agreed, she smiled in her quiet, subtle way, and once again left me with concise instructions. Pack for two months. Be prepared for heavy snows and an arduous climb. A paltry sum for travel expenses will also be required - perhaps we will meet even less of civilization this time, and most of the travel will be on our own. In several days' time, in this particular hour, be ready to board so-and-so ship at so-and-so dock. Concise, crystal clear, and precise. I packed according to the instructions exactly - it was going to be a long journey, possibly longer than any I have ever taken in my life. There was a quiet hum about me, a giddiness. Adventure!

The last one did not end too well for me, that much was true. But I had learned a considerable amount since then, and I had more faith in my abilities. his time I would ask Violet if her plans rely on… nevermind. It will be fine. Adventure.

I had serious considerations about using the time I had left to visit the club. Perhaps it would relax me - but it might also make me reconsider. Perhaps I'll meet Her and She will convince me to stay by Her side, or at least within convenient distance. In the end I had resolved not to go - while I did want to see Her again, or perhaps speak with Elridge again to strengthen my decision, something kept me from doing it. Perhaps I was wary of something tampering with my giddy mood. It was the first time in a while that I had felt an emotion quite so intense that was not related to Her, I have come to realize.

The time to leave had come, and Violet met me at the docks precisely at the time she had wrote down. It was a foggy evening and the docks were mostly clear of people, and I almost gasped as she appeared. She smiled towards me that usual, small smile, and I smiled back gesturing towards the ship I assumed we would board, but she shook her head. 

“She's late”, she said by way of explanation. “We shall wait.”  
“There's no need.” Said a voice by my ear, and this time I did gasp. We were alone until then, I was sure of it. But that did not matter - there was a woman next to me, even if a moment beforehand she was not. After I recollected myself I knew that I recognized her, with her sharp features, the eyepatch, the lazy smile. Like Renira, she was a regular performer at the Club, although her specialty was somewhat different - she was almost always the trickster, the illusionist, the flickering swamp light. Violet appeared entirely nonplussed by her appearance. She looked at the woman sternly for a short while, as if considering whether to scold her, and I noticed that just for a few moments the fog seemed denser. But the moment passed, and without a word Violet left towards the ship and the woman followed her, with my bewildered self in tow.

We spent at least two weeks on the ship alone, and they were by all rights much more eventful than my previous journey by ship. The woman, Sylvia, seemed to take a liking to me - we would stay up late, out on the deck when the weather permitted it, and she would regale me with stories. Her speech would drawl, effortlessly painting fascinating pictures in my mind. The dark wood and secret trysts within; nights spent shedding and wearing new skins, again and again, as one might with fanciful clothing at a department store. A quip about how she had lost her eye, an anecdote about the ease with which one might appear next to someone else suddenly for both amusement and delight. At first I felt as if I could not possibly match up to her stories with my own small accounts, but she seemed to take interest in them nonetheless. We would play cards and talk on and on, and I never once minded that she always won - and possibly had more aces in her hand than what should be feasible at any given time.

Only once did her constant amusement in the world seemed to waver - when I mentioned Her, and the trail of hopeless admirers in her wake. Sylvia nodded slightly when I tried to make light of those wretched souls, and lifted her eyepatch in annoyance to scratch. That habit was one thing I perhaps did not find entirely tasteful about her.  
“It's bad business, that.” She said at length, finally letting the eyepatch snap back to place.  
“Trickery is one thing. When I do this -” And she snapped her fingers, causing a small white light to erupt in the cabin before disappearing just as quickly, leaving traces in my retina. It was not the first time, and I suspected she had secret pouches about her, filled with powders for exactly such occasions. “When I do this you know it was a trick, almost as soon as I've done it. Sometimes the lie goes on for longer, yes, but that...” She trailed off, screwing up her face slightly. I felt uncomfortable, and tried to say something to change the subject, but Sylvia interrupted me before I could.  
“I get it. I get... her. We all have cravings.”  
I nodded, at this point desperate to talk about anything else. I felt as if something was crawling up my back, a distinct discomfort. Suddenly I stood, and made my excuses. Tired, time to sleep. Sylvia nodded slightly, and looked deep in thought.   
When I slept that night I dreamed of The Wood again, but this time felt acutely aware of the many things that lurk in it. Wanderers like me, yes, but dangerous, driven. If they could devour me to further their goals, they would not stop to pick out the bones.

Before too long we arrived at our destination - a coastal city, cold almost as much as where we came from, perhaps windier. 

In the following days we travelled, and spoke little. Sometimes by foot, sometimes by donkeyback, and finally climbing up high steps and finally inclines, fighting for steady footing. As we entered the mountains proper I could hear rumblings, as if the mountains are restless. Stones would roll past, but always a ways from us, as if the particular section we were climbing was in deep sleep. When we made our meagre camp for the night I took notice of how melancholic Violet looked as she gazed upon the sleeping Earth. Soon the mountainside was snowing, and our footing was made even trickier by the slick rock. Still, we held on, and the occasional avalanche was always some other place.

Now as the truly cold part of our journey had begun, I had stopped wondering if Violet's power will serve us in this expedition as well. There was no way it had not, I thought numbly as I gazed on the heavy snow. I was cold, yes, and yet I knew I should've been much colder, and in time I realized I should have by all rights died to exposure. Violet became even more grim and silent than usual, and Sylvia, so often talkative, spoke little now. It was as if we were sleepwalking, a thick blanket separating both the deathly cold and complete wakefulness from our numb bodies.

Finally the ground had begun to level out, as we reached the peaks that seemed to tear at the skies. The air felt thinner, although I do not recall any shortness of breath. My mind was still quite addled, and the body seemed to pay no particular heed to breathing at all. As night descended we sat on the cold earth, staring quietly into the sky. There were too few stars, I thought idly - the brilliance of the cosmos should be shining down on us, but in this forsaken place even the stars are strange and few.

“Violet.” Someone said. Sylvia. Her voice, usually dry, was cracked and ragged.  
“Violet.” She repeated, with a bit more force, before coughing painfully. I heard a movement, and finally a gentle,  
“Yes, you are right.”  
with that the true cold of the night settled on us, freezing but fresh and crisp. I shivered for what must have been the first time in many days, and when I tried to speak I realized how badly I needed water. My throat itched and burned as I rummaged through my pack, and finally took a deep swig of cool water. I saw Sylvia doing the same thing, stopping to cough violently. Violet looked at both of us sadly, and eventually started preparing a fire.

“I’ll get a nice tea going for you. It was... hard, in the high passes. I am sorry.”  
Her tone was level as she expertly prepared a fire and fished out a kettle. Sylvia barked a laugh, interspersed with a cough.  
“I'm half inclined I'll have to charge you extra for the frostbite, Violet.”  
“Yes, dear.” Smiled Violet, staring into the kettle that was not even close to boiling. “Tea should be done soon, warm yourselves up.”  
Of course, I thought to myself, a mad laugh trickling down my chest. Obviously.

The night drew on and neither woman seemed inclined to go to sleep. Sylvia looked at the stars intently, occasionally sipping another cup of tea. Violet seemed content to stare off to the distance. Finally, just as I thought I should suggest sleep - not because I was tired, but because it seemed rather late and I had reasons to suspect my body had not actually slept for a while - Sylvia spoke.

“How many will there be?”  
“Oh,” Said Violet, as if it's a small matter. “Should be a dozen, maybe a tad more. I'm sure you will do fine.”  
“Mm.” Grunted Sylvia. With that she stood up suddenly and looked down at Violet and I before gesturing towards the horizon.  
“Let's go, darlings. We have a crowd to entertain.”

We set out and soon enough found our quarry - Violet had lead us to a small mountain village, connected to a system of caves. Despite the late hour some villagers were standing outside the cave system, speaking softly but clearly vigilant. Sylvia grunted and gestured for us to stay back. She took a step  
and was there no longer.

We had an excellent view of the cave system entrance, and the moon shone brightly. It makes the fact I cannot attest with any conviction at all as to what happened next even more frustrating. I only recall this:  
One of the shadows detached itself from a house, and walked towards the guarding villagers. It was Sylvia, but it also was not - she was something more, or something less, a magic trick. I heard her speak, could not make out the words but was still taken in. She was more than a woman, yes, she was a wonder, and she was inviting them into the wonder - take a look, there was a flash in my hands and there it is a again, coming from over there, look here, an instrument regular by any means, hold it if you want, but look closer and -  
And there was a quiet flash, and we were inside the caves. Some time had passed, surely, but my memory cut exactly up to a certain point and then skipped some, as a thread might be cut and expertly rewoven at a different time. We could hear the guards outside, clearly very confused, and could tell they didn't think to follow us, or know where any of us went at all. Sylvia was besides me, walking with a theatrical, primly step, and smiling a half smile all to herself.

Of the cave system I will write little - it was, by and large, a trap-maze. I do not know how Violet lead us there, and I do not know why sometimes Sylvia urged her suddenly to change our path and why Violet mostly took her advice. I only know I have learned much of stepping softly and evading snares that were mundane and traps that are not quite. After much walking, some crawling, and a few fresh patches of scrapes, we had arrived at a large chamber.

It seemed a natural cave chamber, and it was occupied. There was a large nest of sorts, and in it a serpent.  
It knew of us almost immediately, and raised its massive head towards us. It did not open its mouth, but I knew I could easily fit inside it whole. It did not seem hungry, but regarded us closely, flicking its huge tongue. Violet tensed besides me and suddenly cold flooded the room. The serpent hissed angrily, and I spat “Stop!” at her before I could stop myself. She seemed taken aback, and coughed politely, retreating behind me. The cold settled somewhat, and the serpent's eyes met mine. They were familiar.

I had seen you, I thought to myself. I had seen you in dreams, and I had seen you in waking, and you had helped me before. You, your kind, your sister - you are all kin, and my life somehow led me to be your kin as well. I know you. You know me as well, and you even recognize - yes, my talisman, the one I carried so closely, in my coat pocket. Now I raise it towards your lidless eyes, and see them weep. Why do you weep? What do you remember?

I do not know how long we stood there, with Violet and Sylvia waiting politely behind me as this emphatic conversation took place. I still do not know completely what we even exchanged - emotions, truly, but so vast, so hard. Such despair I have not known since, not once. Eventually the serpent lowered its head, and I knew we were permitted passage. I wanted to ask, find a way to console my kin, but also knew that I could not. Perhaps I will yet learn, but I have not, not yet.

Beyond the serpent, there lay another room - Another chamber, smaller perhaps, but clearly with much import. Scenes were painted crudely on the walls, of monsters and the men who struggled to slay them. Great beasts, ones that should not be able to walk the earth and must have done so still. Shrines there were, dedicated to great hunters and between them - coffers, jugs, trophies. Like the thieves we were, we hastily took them before fleeing in secrecy.

There did not seem to be anything related to The Mother or the arts of opening in the treasures we had found, but certainly worthwhile they were to the scholar and collector alike. On our ship, as we sorted through them properly, Sylvia seemed pleased with the value these will fetch. Violet seemed quite interested in the artifacts themselves, but not so much as to try and research them. They were not her cup of tea, as it were, I thought.

**

“Enid? Enid, darling!”  
With that Renira threw herself around me from behind. I was preparing to exit the Club, wondering idly if I should wait for her outside. I told her that, turning to her and smiling, and she threw her head back and laughed merrily before kissing me lightly on the cheek. The light calm I had felt until now was suddenly torn asunder, my heart beating a frenzy. It was Her.

We stood outside for a while, patrons streaming by us, and talked of the journey and Renira's own adventures in the capital. I was home for only a few days, but I was quite recuperated and already received my share for the expedition - a handsome amount for certain. Renira looked... well, it is a terrible cliche, but She looked even better than I had seen her last. Her skin was flush and lively even in the night's chill, Her beautiful features stark in the streetlight. She trailed her hand over my shoulder lightly as I spoke, and I would shudder involuntarily. Perhaps we could, I thought to myself...

Elridge. Horrible, wasting wounds. Vitality, leached away.  
And her inviting eyes, like a hand suggesting to join for a dance. Both sides fought for a long while. Perhaps a second.  
We kissed deeply.

**

“It’s your choice, sweet Enid.”  
Renira liked calling me that, and her voice was always tender when she did. It was one of her most charming tactics, and I am not ashamed to admit it worked numerous times to reduce me to a proverbial puddle. Still, this time her voice was a tad strained, and her look was hard. Desperation? She needed me, She truly needed me. It felt good to be so needed by Her. My confidence waxed for the past few weeks - after the last expedition I knew I was stronger, more than I was. I knew that even if for a limited time, people depended on me to a great extent, and I was not found wanting. Now Her? I wonder if She saw my eyes glaze over, just for a moment, as I pondered this.

“I will think on it,” I said, with conviction I can still take some pride in. Her gaze hardened, but she nodded, and then softened and kissed my forehead lightly.  
“Please do not think too long.” She breathed, before taking a few steps back and quietly waving goodbye. I waved back and smiled, trying not to lose my head in the scent She left in my nose. Oh, Renira.

Think on it I did, for hours, sleep only a passing thought that came and went like a very small itch. I thought of the House, and of the Wood, and of hungers that scratch and tear from within. A pawn? A partner? A morsel?  
I thought again of Elridge. I did not see him for quite some time, and yet I did not think he was dead. Perhaps he did manage to break off from her, rest a while, perhaps even recuperate some. Perhaps he went on an expedition of some kind, similar to mine, and with similar motives. I thought of Violet, and of Sylvia - both seemed distant after we returned, as if they did somehow disapproved of me but were also ashamed of it. I tried to shrug it off, I tried talking to them lightly of our adventures and of this and that, but still could not escape that feeling.

But I had other matters to think of. It was time to think on Renira’s proposal. She made sure to only explain after I had been quite sedated with indulgences, but my mind was still sharp enough to not accept outright. A ritual - a combining of several influences, converging on a central will. Much like the nectar, salts and chanting that brought the flame to me and made my body whole, but to a different end. A summoning, a subtle cut in the skin of the world, a lavish bait to pull something through. Something she desired, a being that would assist her in her endeavors. She attempted to explain it as not only a great need of hers, but also a way to do away with - as she put it - unnecessary unpleasantries. I wince now at her phrasing, although as She said it I smiled at Her obvious wisdom and compassion. 

Of the requirements, she assured me they are quite small. We - Renira, Laidlaw - irritably still occasionally present at her side - and I, will call upon the Great Mother. She shall come to me if I ask, and offer something in return - Laidlaw, and some more of his Forge-favored salts. The Mother will supposedly be content to consume the salts alone, and grant me the power to make the cut in the world. Renira will then use her own power to lure the being she called Ezeem, it will be under her sway, and the ritual will be done. It should not take more than an hour, and while she assumed she will be quite busy immediately after, She promised She would not be ungrateful. She said that part very deliberately, and even as I recognized the predatorial shine in her eye as she promised this, I could not help being stirred. Oh, Renira.

While I knew I had not fully ascertained the risks, that Renira was clearly skewed in this matter, that Laidlaw is probably be no more than a pawn in this - I could not help the excitement. My own research had stalled somewhat, and for many nights now I only wandered The Wood and nothing more. I could not find more material to research, and shyed from approaching Violet or even Sylvia, distant as they were. A summoning! A ritual! Applying pressure to the points that make up the world until some come undone, open, and let something come through - how fascinating, how novel.

I still do not know if I begrudge myself accepting. Perhaps it does not come as a surprise that I did. But that is then, and what’s done is done.

**

The evening of the ritual smelled of excitement. I had dined with Renira and Laidlaw in her home, and despite clearly attempting to put on a lavish feast to be slowly savoured, Renira was obviously preoccupied. Her eyes would dart around the room, and she spoke excitedly to both of us, making sure we knew our parts exactly. We did. Laidlaw seemed entirely prepared, and I was put off by his obvious reverence to Renira. I was not like him, was I? I was here by choice. I was not blind to her.

But the food was delicious, and Renira’s smile was bright and warm, and my worries faded into a more professional resolve. This was similar to an expedition, I thought to myself. Some danger, yes, but excitement. Excitement and reward.  
It was with these thoughts that I entered the chamber Renira prepared for the ritual.

Candles were lit. Fresh blood was smeared on the wall, and I winced slightly at the iron smell. At least no other remains were present, as far as I could see. Laidlaw stood in the center of the chamber, holding the box of blackened wood, a complacent smile on his face. At any other time, I might have sneered at him, but my heart beat far too fast to take notice. I saw Renira, naked, standing a bit away from him, smearing herself matter-of-factly with even more blood from a bucket, her beautiful features fading beneath the thick layers she applied. Her expression was alive, hungry. Most nights, I would have been stirred into distraction by her sight, or disturbed, but not that night. Instead, I walked closer to Laidlaw, and waited for her to sign to go ahead. She gave it promptly, although with some hesitation. I could smell the salts then, so familiar, so acrid. They amplified the heavy atmosphere in the room, the pungent smell of blood.

I nodded towards Laidlaw who nodded back, smiling, and pulled out my talisman before calling out to my Mother. I beseeched her help, as her daughter, as one of the serpents. I just began another sentence, perhaps something about requiring her in this hour of need, when she simply slithered, upside down, out of the ceiling. All the candles in the room seemed muffled in front of her own strange, violet glow.,She hung from the ceiling, smiling at me kindly. I could barely make out Renira behind her, looking on expectantly. Beautiful Mother...

“Yes, child?”  
A nod. Assistance.   
“Ah, a more extraordinary opening than usual. Certainly, child, certainly, but have you brought me something in return? A morsel, a little… ah, the young man?”  
She dropped to the floor gracefully, and languidly ran her many arms around Laidlaw. If he paid any mind, I could not tell. She smelled the air near him, rasping quietly to herself, and only then appeared to take notice of the box.  
“And you’d much prefer I took these precious little things than the man, yes?” This was only said to me, I knew, and her look was embarrassingly all-knowing. “Although maybe you would also like… No? Alright, child, alright.”

She took the box from him, and opened it to smell the insides. The heat escaped into the room, and she seemed to relish it. She sighed. “Yes, this will do quite well. A gift for a gift, child. Use it well, and remember, your Mother loves you.”

She closed the box again, secreted it about her, and then walked forwards to touch me. I opened my arms to accept her precious touch, the Mother’s love. One of her hands passed through me, opening me as if I was nought but water, and secreting within me another secret, another ethereal key to the chain. My vision twisted into the somewhat familiar view of black and white, with visible threads yearning to be undone, doors aching to be opened. The Mother smiled at me one last time before leaving me, climbing back out of this world as one would exit a trap door.

I knew the next step. Laidlaw walked away a bit, and allowed me to walk directly to Renira. The blood on her was so bright I saw its colour even in the stark black and white colouration. She kissed me, her lips and hands smearing blood on my lips, my cheeks, my neck, the back of my head. It tasted of iron, it tasted of flesh, it tasted of hunger. I enjoyed myself, but knew we must not stop now. I broke off, and in the space between us I reached out a hand and opened a door.

And from the darkness beyond the door, a darkness beyond black, beyond anything, there came a limb. Then another, and another, a body - and an aroma. Aromas, many of them, some similar to ones I have smelled on Renira, some different, but all intoxicating. The being called Ezeem pulled itself into our world, and stood before us, and like Renira it was coloured in the otherwise devoid world, and even more richly. Coloured, and constantly changing, shifting.

“Blood of birth, blood of murder, blood of passion, blood of feast.” Intoned Renira, offering it a hand.  
“Fire of forge, fire of change, fire of creation.” Chimed in Laidlaw, walking close, his eyes bright and rapt.

“And an opener, a favoured one at that.” Said Ezeem, its voice a rich wine, a melody that hinted only slightly of some irony, a pool one could drown in.

“Yes,” breathed Renira, still offering out her hand, positively quivering. “Take my hand, let us -”  
“No.” Ezeem’s voice whipped cruelly, making me and Laidlaw wince. Renira stood her ground, though.  
“Come. Eat and be eaten, change me and be changed, allow me to feast and birth myself!” Her voice was sharp as well, and this time she did not try to soften it as she did with me. Ezeem seemed to ponder for a moment. Only a moment.

“I will grant one of those, but one only.”  
With that it whipped forward, and bit into Renira’s hand. Her scream was a strange thing, and certainly was not only of pain. Still, she tried to pull away, and Ezeem took hold of her arm and pulled as well. There was a terrible cracking noise, and the hand came away -  
“Fight it!” screamed Renira. “You will be mine!”  
Laidlaw reacted before me, in his hands a fire, and he launched himself at Ezeem, his eyes bright and still smiling a mad, fascinated smile. There was a hiss, and the smell of smoke, and for a moment I could not see any more at all. When the smoke dissipated, Laidlaw was gone, and only blood remained. Renira was kneeling before Ezeem, now bleeding profusely from multiple places. Her face was a mask of pain and anger, and her unhurt hand was clenched tightly.

“The feast can’t always give away, or share, the feast must sometimes claim.” Said Ezeem, looking down at her, once again a sweet and syrupy melody. Without looking it also mentioned “Do not meddle, serpent. I will be on my way presently, as soon as I take care of dessert-”  
But I could not. How could I? I do not begrudge myself stepping forward, trying to grab hold of my talisman, perhaps I only begrudge my own timid voice as it said:  
“No.”  
“Hmm?”  
“Go back. I will open you the way, and if you do not go I will open you.”  
“Ah.”  
And with that Ezeem turned to me, its form larger than before, writhing in excitement, its eyes narrow mesmerizing slits.  
“Perhaps another one before I leave, then.”  
And I braced and did not flinch, and was prepared to attempt anything I could do - a massive opening in the world, a shattering of the horror’s center, a call to the Mother as the thing advanced upon me -

But we were both quite interrupted.  
A door slammed open and a shot rang out. Ezeem stumbled, a shining ball embedded into its twisted cavity, and my ears rang painfully. Then another crack of shot, then another, and I saw Ezeem trying to get up frantically, weakened by the projectiles that cut into it. A figure was on the other side of the room, and he was screaming, a familiar voice yelling again and again something I could make out - “Send it back!”  
When my mind finally registered the meaning, I held up my talisman steady as I could and opened a door, so close to the horror it could not help but fall inside.  
And so it was done.

**

Renira and I did not speak much in the days that followed. She seemed dazed, and not at all the controlled and controlling person I knew so well. In fact, she essentially handed over the reins to me.

When the smoke settled and we knew we were safe, I consulted with Elridge while she sat to the side, huddled into herself. Elridge did not care to explain what brought him to Renira’s, or why he was armed with means to destroy monsters. He did put it quite bluntly that too many people have heard the struggle, and that authorities who would not look kindly on our practices were probably alerted. It was my choice what to do with Renira, but if I wanted either of us to survive, we had to leave. 

And so we did. I wish I could say goodbye to Violet or Sylvia, or even thank Elridge properly, but there was simply no time. I packed quickly and lightly for Renira and I from her belongings, and we took the earliest train that could take us - and that was that.

We are safe now, truly. I think I will find work soon, and I think Renira will be ready to leave the house any day now, although she still clutches her stump in fear sometimes. Sometimes the memories get the better of her and she remains silent for hours. Sometimes she whimpers in her sleep, or drops what she’s holding in a shudder. I am patient with her. I will be strong for us both.

I have not written to Violet, or Sylvia or Elridge. Perhaps I will in the future, but not now. I have done my best to avoid dreams of The House, and I did not pack a single piece of lore, anything that will connect us again to that world, to the search beneath the skin of the world.  
Well, all except one thing. A precious thing. I carry the talisman close to me, and clutch it to seek comfort. Sometimes I still see the Mother smirking at me at the edge of my vision, but I know she won’t approach against my wishes. Sometimes I still see the doors in the world, but for now I will not open them. We are together, and for now - yes, for now that is just enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, apologies. I let slip and somehow four entire months (?!) have gone past without the finale I have yearned so much to release. The fault is, by and large, my own. 
> 
> Second of all, thanks. Thanks for reading, thanks for being the community for this wonderful, wonderful game I adore so much (and need to get back into! New wonders await!)
> 
> Third of all, a gigantic thanks to Wrexalia for wonderful editing. This likely wouldn't happen without her aid.


End file.
